


Within Teenaged Daydreams

by downtheroadandupthehill, ryssabeth



Series: Glory Days [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barely Legal, High School, M/M, Student/Teacher relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downtheroadandupthehill/pseuds/downtheroadandupthehill, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryssabeth/pseuds/ryssabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is pretty sure he needs to be reprimanded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Within Teenaged Daydreams

Grantaire spends the remainder of class completely unable to focus on the  _content_ of whatever is coming from Enjolras’ mouth—only the mouth itself, and how he manages to speak with such _passion_ , and he wonders what sort of passionate, probably _angry_ words he’ll get hurled his way after class. His expression is probably contorted into some twisted half-grin, half-scowl produced from equal parts dread and a sort of masochistic excitement for whatever awaits him after class.

_A thorough tongue-lashing_ —

The words run through his mind before he can stop them, and he knows he’s staring up at his teacher with glassy eyes because he just can’t help himself, can he? And he’s very, very glad he already jerked off, because receiving an after-class lecture with an erection visible through his jeans would probably be the most awkward thing in the world.

The bell rings, and Grantaire startles out of the dreamy smile that had settled on his face, shoves his notebook into his bag and almost gets half out of his seat by habit alone before he remembers what he’s been pondering for the past forty-five minutes and slouches back.

As Courfeyrac passes him, he pats him on the back with a murmured “ _Good luck_ ,” while Eponine offers him a sympathetic smile from the door.

He shrugs at her, and throws her a cocky wink to let her know that he’ll be fine, because Eponine spends far too much time worrying about him for her own good, until she finally saunters away with Courfeyrac in tow. Courfeyrac, meanwhile, winks back at him, gives him a thumbs up, because to Courfeyrac, everything is the potential start of a porno, and well, that’s an optimistic way to live.

And then Grantaire is alone with his government teacher for the first time.

Enjolras perches on the edge of his books-and-papers-covered desk, and as if he’s overexerted during his intensive lectures, loosens his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt.

(Grantaire definitely, one-hundred-percent is _not_ fixing his eyes on the small bit of sweat-glazed chest that is revealed.

And definitely, one-hundred-percent _not_ wondering what it tastes like.)

He swallows hard, and begins to tap his pencil nervously on his desk. The silence that stretches between them—which really shouldn’t be this long, he’s got more stuff to do, hasn’t he — filled only by the _taptaptap_ of his pencil.

“Far be it from me to begrudge you participation,” Enjolras drawls, because it is very apparent that he would rather _enjoy_ begrudging Grantaire’s participation (and that makes him smile, a little, and he arches his brow at his teacher), “but is it really necessary to be so argumentative?”

“Depends,” Grantaire cocks his head. This is his element, being an annoying little shit (and he doesn’t think about a hand on his jaw or a grip on his arm). “Do you have to be so naïve about anarchy?”

“That,” Enjolras snorts, pushing away from his desk, bringing himself and his exposed neck closer, the sweat inching toward the hollow of his throat drying outside the restricting grip of the shirt collar, not that Grantaire is watching, “is rich, coming from you. How far out of the cradle are you, Mister Grantaire?” His teacher’s hand comes to rest on Grantaire’s desk, lithe fingers pressed against the surface, and he’s pretty sure he could trace the tendons with a pen. 

(He tries not to be offended at the patronizing tone.

He doesn’t think he succeeds.)

“Pretty far out of the cradle, I think. I mean, I’ve got the capacity to understand what kind of sin it is to have a throat like yours.” Grantaire looks up from under his hair, flicking a couple of his curls from his eyes, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips from the twitch in Enjolras’ cheek. His eyes narrow.

(Grantaire isn’t sure if it isn’t the shading from this angle or if Enjolras’ neck is going a little bit red.)

“Flattery doesn’t earn you any less of a reprimand.”

( _Oh yes, please, reprimand me_.

He’s fairly certain he got off to a fantasy like this sometime last week, in which he may or may not have had to be punished for running his mouth a little too loudly by having his throat fucked raw whilst crouched underneath Enjolras’ desk.

Okay, that might be a tad too vivid for him to have _not_ gotten off to it at least once or twice.)

“What _does_ it earn me?” He can feel the grin pulling at the corner of his lips pull harder into a full-blown smirk, because there is just _no way this conversation is actually happening_ and _oh shit did he just say that out loud_?

But it is and he did.

Grantaire licks his lower lip before he can stop himself, and thinks he is most likely hallucinating when he sees where his teacher’s gaze is drawn.

And it seems to have caught Enjolras slightly off-guard, too, as he clears his throat, and— _oh yeah_ —now he is definitely blushing, and it’s the first time he has ever seen the older man lost for words. His hand leaves Grantaire’s desk as he takes a step back, running a hand through his hair in what Grantaire will later pretend is sexual frustration. He walks back to his desk at the front of the room and begins to shuffle through papers and doesn’t look up at Grantaire.

“Detention,” he says, finally, distractedly. “For disrupting class. Tomorrow, after school.” He glances up again at him, briefly, and gives him the smallest of nods. “You’re dismissed.”

Grantaire takes his time, then, as he stands and stretches so that his t-shirt rides up just the slightest, and bends over to grab his messenger bag.

(And he’s an annoying little shit, but even he doesn’t dare to watch his teacher’s reaction—or lack thereof—as he does so.)

“See you tomorrow,” he mutters, as he shuffles out of the classroom door. Enjolras doesn’t respond.

…..

Government is his last class of the day, and so Eponine and Courfeyrac are waiting in the school’s parking lot by his car when Grantaire struts out of the building and lights up a cigarette. He hands Eponine one, too, which she takes gratefully.

“How’d it go?” she asks, in an exhale of white smoke.

Courfeyrac elbows her, grinning. “How d’you think, judging by that big, dumb smile on his face?”

He shoots Courfeyrac a glare, before turning back to Eponine. “Detention tomorrow,” he says, carelessly, though the big, dumb smile that Courfeyrac pointed out completely belies his tone.

“You’ve been a very naughty boy,” Courfeyrac snickers (and that brings us back to the introduction to a porno—and it’s so cliché as to bring tears to Grantaire’s eyes in laughter). 

“Shut up, I swear to God, he’s a teacher not a _nanny_.”

“Well,” Courfeyrac _hmms_ as Grantaire huffs a cloud of smoke from his nose, “now that you mention _that_ thought—“

“Oh for _Christ’s_ sake,” Eponine rolls her eyes, pursing her lips around her own cigarette as she shoves at Courfeyrac. “He’s not an old man, you idiot. And _you_ are going to be sorely disappointed when it’s just detention.”

Grantaire smiles at her, tasting the smoke on his tongue, holding the warmth in his lungs before he lets it out. “I always have very low expectations so I’m hardly ever disappointed, ‘Ponine.”

She looks sad when he says that—but she often looks that way, when he speaks. He’s used to that by now. 

(He thinks about the time he’d brought her over—remembers how he flinched at the dinner table, remembers the reaming he’d gotten afterward _for_ flinching—remembers why he doesn’t do that anymore.)

Grantaire breathes out. 

“Query!” he announces, flicking the ash from the tip of his cigarette and he suddenly has Eponine-and-Courfeyrac’s undivided attention. “May I stay with you tonight, Courfeyrac?” (They never notice when he doesn’t come home—only when he comes home late, comes home early. But never when he doesn’t come home at all.)

Courfeyrac’s eyes glint, but only slightly. “Sure, yeah. I’ll have to let my parents know, since it’s a school night, but there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Eponine looks relieved at that.

Grantaire pretends she doesn’t, and instead, looks forward to detention tomorrow.

(If Grantaire comes a few hours later with Courfeyrac’s hand around his cock instead of his own, with Courfeyrac hissing what a _naughty boy_ he is in his ear, well, neither of them are telling.)


End file.
